Not Quite Aligned
by Dhvana
Summary: Greg is shot, which leaves three CSIs feeling disconcerted about their lives. (GregGilNick, Slash)


Not Quite Aligned

Greg stepped out of the building and into the warmth of the early morning sunlight, a smile breaking across his face. He stretched, releasing the tension that had been building in his shoulders and back. It had been a long night, and all he wanted to do was go home and curl up in bed. Or maybe breakfast should be first on the agenda. Mmm. . . toast with strawberry jam would really hit the spot. Did he have any strawberry jam at home? Maybe he should stop at the store on the way.

Humming absently to himself, he noticed Nick's truck pulling into the parking lot as he dug into his pocket for his keys. Uh-oh, somebody was late. Glad it wasn't him. Nick waved, and he waved back, thinking the Texan was in a surprisingly good mood considering the hour and the fact that Katherine was going to chew him out.

Chuckling at his colleague's unfortunate luck, he hit the button to unlock his car and had his hand on the handle when someone called out to him.

"Hey. . . hey you!"

Frowning, Greg turned to see a man emerging from between the cars parked the next lane over. The guy's eyes were bloodshot, his skin had a grayish tinge, and he was shaking a little as he approached. Greg caught a hint of smoke and alcohol and wondered if he should call someone for help.

"I saw you on the TV last night. They were talking about that girl, the one who'd gotten butchered."

Greg's good mood instantly vanished. Yeah, he'd been there. An eleven-year-old girl had been raped and then dismembered, the story quickly becoming a top draw for the parasitic reporters during a slow news night. Grissom had bit a couple heads off when the sudden surge of interest had left security short-handed and resulted in a couple of trespassers on the crime scene.

"I was there," he said cautiously. The man looked distraught, and until Greg knew what he was after, he wasn't taking any chances.

"You a cop?"

"No. I'm a CSI. I collect evidence."

"Those reporters were saying that the father did it. Is that what you told them?"

"At this point, we don't know who did it. The media's speculation is not representative of our findings at this time." There, that was a carefully neutral response, right? Surely he was covered with an answer like that. And all he knew about the father was that the man was nowhere to be found, which made him a suspect until the evidence proved otherwise.

"Well, I'm that girl's dad, and I'm telling you, I had nothing to do with it! I want you to find the man who did and I want him dead!"

Greg's stomach took a nosedive as he stared at the man in front of him. "Mr. Cross?"

"That's right, and I want you to stop telling people I did it!"

"Sir, if you'll come inside with me--"

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" the man shouted and pulled a gun from his pocket, pointing it directly at him. "You'll just lock me away and I'm telling you I didn't do it!"

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. . . this was not how he wanted to spend his morning. Where the hell was Nick? Where was anyone else for that matter? This parking lot was usually full of people. Why? Why did this have to be the one day when there was no one around? Nicky! Nicky, help!

"Mr. Cross," Greg said, holding his hands in front of him, "I'm not going to lock you up. I just want you to come with me so I can get a sample of your DNA. If it doesn't match the DNA from the scene--"

"It doesn't! I didn't do it! That's the problem with you cops, you don't listen!"

"Mr. Cross--"

"But you're listening now, aren't you?"

"Mr. Cross, please calm down," he said with one eye on the gun moving unsteadily in front of him.

"Don't tell me to calm down! I just lost my little girl to some monster and you're trying to pin it on me!"

"Mr. Cross, I'm not blaming you."

"LIAR!"

"Listen to me. You don't have to go inside. Let me go, pick up a swab so I can get a sample of your DNA and clear your name, and then you can concentrate on your daughter."

"You think I'm going to fall for that?" the man sneered. "I let you inside and you'll sic your cop buddies on me."

Which had been Greg's plan--a long shot, at best, but it had been worth a try.

"What is it you want me to do?"

"I want you to find the man who killed my daughter!"

"Mr. Cross, that's what I'm trying to do."

"Then stop looking for me!"

"Mr. Cross--"

"Can't you hear what I'm saying?"

Okay, they were just going in circles here. Clearly, the man had said what he came there to say, but then he'd pulled a gun and now he didn't know where to go because he was in trouble either way. At this point, Greg didn't care if the man had done it or not. He just wanted to get the gun out of his face.

"I'm listening to you, Mr. Cross, but I have to say, you standing there pointing a gun at me is not doing anything to help your case. Why don't you put the gun down, and we can talk some more. Let me tell you what it is we're doing to help your daughter and maybe you'll understand--"

"Shut up! Don't you tell me what it is I don't understand!"

"Mr. Cross--" Greg paused, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. Nicky! Finally! He was going to kick that Texan's ass back to the Lone Star state for taking so damn long, and then kiss it a thousand times over. Now he just needed to stall and give Nick a chance to work his magic. "Mr. Cross, let me ask you this. Who do you think did it?"

The man blinked. "What?"

"We know it isn't you." Certainly didn't hurt to humor the man. "Give me a list of people you think might be responsible for hurting your daughter." When he didn't immediately respond, Greg tried a different tactic. "Has there been anyone hanging around your neighborhood who shouldn't have been? Have you noticed any strange activity?"

"Actually, there was this one man the neighbors have been complaining about. We've told the cops about him half a dozen times now, but they didn't do a goddamn thing. If he's the one who did it and you people did nothing to stop him--"

Oh, shit. Wrong way to go. The man was getting angry again, just when Greg had thought he'd gotten him clamed down. Nick, where the hell are you?

"Mr. Cross, I'm sure the police did everything they could--"

"Greg, down!"

Greg immediately dropped to the ground as Nick tackled the man and slammed him against the car, but he refused to let go of the gun. Greg jumped up to help, grabbing Mr. Cross by the wrist with both hands and pointing the gun up into the air. The weapon discharged once, causing Greg's ears to ring.

"Let me go!" he shouted, elbowing Nick in his stomach. The Texan grunted, but didn't loosen his grip.

"Drop the gun!" Nick commanded.

"Let me go!

"Not until you drop the gun!"

"No!" he shouted, elbowing Nick again.

"God damnit," he swore, shooting Greg an evil look. "Do something!"

"I'm trying!" He tightened his grip on the man's arm and slammed it against the car.

Mr. Cross twisted to slam his foot down on Nick's, then smashed the back of his fist into the Texan's nose. Greg reached out to grab onto Mr. Cross's free arm and somehow lost control of the one holding the gun. It fired again and light burst behind his eyes. He found himself falling away from them both, Nick's panicked cry of "GREG!" sounding in his ears just before he hit the ground, and then everything sort of faded away.

* * *

For the next few weeks, most of the CSIs unconsciously avoided the stain on the parking lot. Only Nick and Grissom made a point of stopping to stare down at the dark patch on the cement. They passed each other there most mornings when Grissom was leaving and Nick arriving, and again in the evenings when Nick was on his way out and Grissom on his way in. Their conversation was the same.

"How's he doing?" the one leaving would ask, on his way to the hospital.

"The same," the one arriving would reply, having just come from the hospital.

They'd then nod and go their separate ways.

The rest of the team would stop to see Greg and check up on him, but Nick and Gil were the only constant visitors to the quiet room. Greg's parents had gotten used to seeing the solemn faces sitting by their son's side and had tried to reassure them it wasn't their fault, but they could tell that neither Nick nor Gil believed them.

Four weeks passed, and Greg's parents began considering moving him home so they could keep an eye on him while slowly going on with their lives, but in the end, they decided they couldn't do that to their son or his friends. The more people Greg had surrounding him who loved him, the better his chances were of recovering.

One week after making that decision, their son woke up.

* * *

Greg stared down at the stain on the parking lot. Two months had passed since he'd been shot, and he still couldn't quite believe it had happened. Even staring at the place where his blood had pooled beneath his head couldn't make it less of a dream for him, but he kept staring at the stain, hoping the reality of it might eventually sink in.

Nick and Gil slowly walked towards Greg, unable to break the habit of their routine even now that the younger CSI was awake and out of the hospital. Their eyes met and they came to a halt, making a triangle around the stain.

"Greg, Nick," Gil nodded.

"Grissom," Nick said, but Greg didn't look up.

"Greg, how are you feeling?"

Greg shrugged.

"Do you need more time?"

"No. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, edging past Nick and walking towards the door. Gil turned to the Texan.

"I want you to switch with Sara and join the night shift."

"Why?"

"It'll be better for him."

Nick's eyebrows rose. "He's going to know I'm there to keep an eye on him." And Sara's not going to like it.

"I've already spoken with Sara," Gil said in response to his unspoken comment, "and she's agreed, for Greg's sake. I want him to feel safe without having him retreat to the lab."

"You really think he'll feel safe around me after I got him shot?"

"The only person responsible for the shooting was the man holding the gun."

Gil looked Nick in the eye, and the CSI was surprised to see the normally placid face take on a haggard expression. He knew Grissom had been taking Greg's shooting hard, but until that moment, he never realized how hard. It was like the shooting had caused him to age twenty years in just two months, and the pain he saw in the older man's eyes was not dissimilar to his own.

"Gil--"

"Nick, he needs you right now."

With those words, Nick realized Gil knew about him and Greg, about those few times the flirtation in the lab had turned to something else. He also realized that Gil was having mixed feelings about their sometimes relationship, and this unnerved him, but he nodded.

"I'll do it."

"You begin the night after tomorrow."

* * *

The first night Nick showed up, Greg gave him a suspicious look, but didn't say anything. Nick didn't know whether to feel angry or relieved at the lack of response, so he decided to ignore his feelings and just concentrate on the job. This seemed to be the right solution, as the only thing Greg was interested in anymore was the job. Before Nick's very eyes, Greg was becoming more of a workaholic than either Grissom or Sara. Nick was torn, wanting to shake Greg and wake him up, but he also knew that the work was a coping mechanism and he convinced himself to wait.

This continued with the two of them working side by side for three weeks before Grissom finally called him into his office.

"Are you sure the bullet didn't rip out his personality when it hit him?" the Texan sighed, rubbing his hands over his face as he slumped in the chair. "I swear, Gris, it's like working with a Greg zombie."

"So there's no change."

"Not really. I have to work my ass off just to get him to smile."

"But he's getting the job done."

"Better than the rest of us," he snorted. "He's the embodiment of professional detachment. I swear, nothing gets to him."

"It will, and when it finally hits. . ."

"I know. I need to be there for him."

"If this is more than you can handle--"

"I can handle it," Nick snapped.

"But do you want to?"

It was the first time Grissom had asked him that. It was the first time he himself had even considered the question. Did he want to help Greg? Well, of course he did, but to this extent? Just how much did he feel for the lab rat turned CSI? How much was he willing to sacrifice?

Everything.

"I want to," he said softly, and Gil nodded.

"Good. You'll be fine, Nick. You both will."

* * *

Greg was studying his hands. There was no trembling like after the explosion. They were steady as rocks, so the problem wasn't with his hands. The problem was inside of him. Something didn't fit anymore. He didn't know if it was just him, or the job, or maybe the city. Maybe he'd outgrown the desert. It was too bright. Everything was too bright. There was never any darkness. Even at night, it was like the sun's little brother decided to hang around and shoot some craps, and there was always light in the sky.

He missed the night. He missed having days that didn't immediately start to bake his skin the moment he stepped outside. He missed the breeze off the ocean, the smell of salt and sea, but he couldn't imagine going back there. It wasn't his life anymore.

But he wasn't sure if this was his life either. It just didn't feel right. Something was missing. Something had always been missing. Why didn't he know this before?

* * *

When Greg broke, it was in a way Gil had never expected.

"Nick loves you," he said as Greg pushed him against the wall, supple lips latching onto his throat as steady hands unbuttoned his shirt. He didn't know why he'd brought up Nick. Guilt, probably.

"I love him, too."

"Then why. . . ?"

"Don't question, just accept," Greg said, and took hold of his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

* * *

Nick sat across from Grissom, the two staring unblinking at each other. Finally, Nick spoke.

"I know about you."

"I suspected you did."

"Why?"

Gil opened his mouth, but no words came out. How could he respond to the betrayal, to the heartache in the younger man's eyes? Swallowing, he tried again. "I don't know."

"Does he hate me? Is that it? Does he blame me for what happened?"

"No."

"Then why?"

Gil sighed, shaking his head. "I honestly don't know. I'm baffled by it myself."

"I'd like to transfer to a different shift."

"He thought you'd ask. He wants me to tell you no."

"He wants me to stay?"

"Yes."

"But why? He's got you now."

"I think he wants us both."

Nick's eyes widened with surprise. "Oh." He stared at Grissom, then glanced over to the lab where Greg was lending a hand on a particularly heavy case and deliberately not looking at them. He turned back to Grissom. "What do you want?"

"The same thing he wants."

"So I guess the question is, what do I want?"

"I guess it is," Grissom nodded.

* * *

Smiling, Greg stepped out of the building and into the warmth of the early morning sunlight. His back ached, and he wondered what his odds were of getting someone to work the kinks out of it before going to sleep. He'd probably have to make breakfast first. Mmm. . . toast with strawberry jam would really hit the spot. Did he have any strawberry jam at home? He had to stop at the store anyway, might as well pick up a jar while he was there.

Humming absently to himself, he dug into his pocket for his keys only to have them snatched out of his hand.

"Hey!" he protested, trying to grab them from the Texan as Nick held the key ring captive behind his back.

"Leaving without me?"

"No," Greg grinned, wrapping both arms around Nick in a weak attempt to get the keys, but really just wanting to hold him. "I saw you talking to Gil and knew you'd only be a couple minutes. How much longer is he going to be?"

Nick sighed, shaking his head. "Another two hours at least."

"Good. We've got more than enough time to go to the grocery store and get breakfast made."

"That'll be a nice surprise for him, coming home to find breakfast waiting."

"And us. Don't forget us."

"It was sort of a given that we'd be waiting for him, babe," Nick said, reaching for a kiss, which Greg willingly granted him.

"Hope he hurries," Greg said huskily as he pulled the keys from Nick's lax hand. Nick smiled, and walked around to the other side of the car.

* * *

Gil rolled over and turned off the alarm. Next to him, Greg was still fast asleep and showing no signs of waking up. He didn't know how their young lover managed to do that. He'd heard Nick's protesting groan almost a second before the alarm went off, and he'd been awake for a good five minutes before that, but Greg. . .

"He's lucky we don't have earthquakes," Nick grumbled.

"Well, technically--"

"Gil. . ." he warned, and the older man smiled.

"I know, no trivia first thing in the morning."

"Thank you," Nick smiled, leaning over the dead-to-the-world Greg for a good morning kiss. "Breakfast?"

"Don't you find it odd that we eat breakfast twice a day?"

"I was planning on grilling steaks tonight."

"In that case, breakfast sounds good."

"Think you can get him up in time?" Nick asked, lightly slapping Greg on the ass as he crawled out of bed.

"I'm up," came the muffled response. "I was just waiting for you two to stop being mushy."

"We were being mushy?" Gil asked, his voice laced with amusement.

"According to sunshine there," Nick said as he pulled on a t-shirt.

"I never said it was a normal kind of mushy," Greg said, yawning as he emerged from his cocoon. "But for you two, that was mushy on a level of Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in their heyday."

Nick met Grissom's eyes and grinned. "Are you Meg or am I?"

"I'm not even going to answer that," Gil said, rolling out of bed only to be pulled back down by a pair of arms around his waist.

"Where are you going?" Greg asked, sliding a hand down his stomach. "He's cooking, so he's the only one who has to get up."

Nick watched as Greg's hand slipped beneath the band of Gil's boxers, Greg's unwavering gaze holding his, and Nick wondered not for the first time what the devil made him think he could survive two men at once.

"You only have yourself to blame if you starve," he said as he stripped off his shirt.

"That's what fast food is for," Greg said, moving over to make room for Nick.

Gil sighed. "Suddenly I feel like a Christmas goose being fattened up for the holidays."

"Don't be silly," Greg said. He leaned up and nibbled on the older man's ear as he whispered, "You know you're the sexiest one of us all."

"I can't argue with him there," Nick said, pushing Gil back onto the bed. "Besides, we take good care of you."

"You take excellent care of me," Gil agreed, capturing Nick's mouth with his own.

Lazily stroking Gil's hardening cock with his hand, Greg smiled as he watched his lovers. He never would have thought he was missing not just one piece from his life, but two. Thank goodness he'd gotten shot. Nothing else would have given him this, or showed him that this was what he'd always wanted.

"Coming?" Gil asked as his and Nick's eyes turned to him.

Still smiling, Greg stretched out next to his lovers and joined in their kiss.

* * *

(Completed May 4, 2005) 


End file.
